


For all to see

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (mostly) Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, mentions of Rick's previous relationships, some angst and then fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22999849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: Daryl thinks he's not worthy of anyone's love.Rick proves him wrong, eventually.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 14
Kudos: 165





	For all to see

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little oneshot set in the beginnings of the group's stay in Alexandria. I needed a break from the long things I've been writing (if you guys think I'm only working on The Shark Heart right now when it comes to novel-length stories, you've got another thing coming), and I really needed some feel-good rickyl stuff.  
> I hope everyone enjoys it, too :)

Daryl’s earliest clear childhood memory is of his mother saying she wished he wasn’t born. It’s from when he was maybe five years old; he killed his first squirrel with the bow and arrows Merle had made for him, and he brought it home in hopes of receiving some praise from his mama. Like any child, he wanted to make at least one of his parents proud, and he thought _hunting his own food_ was quite an accomplishment for the scrawny kid that he was.

_“I wish I never gave birth to you,”_ he heard instead. 

She never beat him, never hurled insults at him like his daddy, but Daryl never doubted, not ever since that day when he was five, that his mother had no love for him neither. On her best days, she acted like she wasn’t bothered by his presence. On the worst, she pretended he wasn’t even there. She didn’t care if he had anything to eat, to wear. She just treated him like a piece of furniture or, on bad days, like air. 

It wasn’t so bad, really. Daryl was a self-sufficient child and he didn’t need much attention from his parents anyway.

But it stayed with him. His mama’s indifference, his daddy’s apparent distaste for him. Even Merle didn’t care all that much, least not when Daryl was a kid. He got better about it as Daryl got older, started protecting him after mama died. Then again, he left all the time in spite of Daryl’s pleas not to go away, so maybe he didn’t care all that much, either. 

If there’s one thing Daryl learned from his childhood, it’s this: no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, he’s not worthy of anyone’s love.

So really, when Rick flinches away from his good-morning kiss on the morning after they spent the night in one bed, entangled within each other’s embrace in Rick’s bedroom, he’s not even surprised.

“Someone might see,” Rick explains meekly, and Daryl grunts something noncommittally, shrugs and walks past him to the porch where he can have a smoke - and a think - in lieu of breakfast. It’s slowly becoming a habit.

He still doesn’t like Alexandria, even after everything that’s happened with those Wolves bastards. People died, probably good people, definitely some guys who didn’t deserve to die like they did, and Daryl thinks maybe this place would’ve been better off if their group never made it here. Between that whole bullshit with Pete Anderson and then the Wolves, it seems like all they’ve done was bring trouble along. Too late for regrets, though, they can’t go back now; Daryl supposes they’re actually stuck here forever, because Alexandria needs the leadership that only Rick can offer, in spite of whatever first impression he’d made.

They’ve rebuilt with great effort, and they’re gradually improving the security of the place. Everyone’s been adapting, even those people who thought the end of the world would never reach them here in their small piece of post-apocalyptic paradise. Armed guards make rounds around the walls a few times daily. Small groups of scouts go out to check the perimeter every six hours, just to be sure there aren’t any enemies lurking in the woods, waiting to catch the community unawares. Glenn and his team brought some books on construction from the last run, and now there are crews forming with the intention to reinforce their defenses. Abraham has started teaching people to fight, utilizing his military experience. 

The whole family is lending their efforts, and for all intents and purposes, Alexandria has become their home. 

Daryl’s never had a home, to be honest. Sure, he had a roof above his head in his daddy’s shitty trailer as a kid, and then a camper he shared with Merle for most of his adult life, but neither of them were home. For a while there, the prison was the closest thing he’s ever come to what he thought home should be like, but that’s long gone. Alexandria is… well, it’s not like that. It’s something. A place where the family can be safe, or at least safer than out there on the road all the time. Carl deserves it. Lil’ Ass-kicker deserves it. Hell, they all do - Michonne, Glenn and Maggie, Abraham’s group. Carol, too, even if she hates it almost as much as Daryl. And Rick, Rick deserves a place he can finally unwind. They all went through almost literal hell to finally find their peace.

It’s just that there’s no peace in Alexandria for the likes of Daryl Dixon.

Rick kissed him here on the porch last night. It was totally out of the blue; one minute, they were talking about strengthening the walls with some of the concrete mix they found in the depot near Richmond. Daryl was just saying how he’d lead a team out there with their two trucks, get as many building supplies back as possible, when suddenly Rick leaned into his space, took a breath like he was sniffing him - like maybe he was about to ask him to shower again or something, _to fit in better, make an effort_ \- and then pressed his lips to Daryl’s. 

For a kiss so brief, it was fucking life-changing, and it led to other things. Intimacy was never something Daryl craved, but with Rick, he easily gave in to every touch, every tug and pull, every demand whispered against his skin; and he responded by touching and tasting and demanding, too. For the past weeks, months - hell, for years now he’d known that there would never come a day he’d be able to deny Rick anything he asked. Rick is family, but not only that. Daryl thinks… well, he really thinks he loves him, whatever that actually means. 

But Rick obviously doesn’t feel the same way, if the way he flinched away in the kitchen is any indication. Whatever possessed him to do all those things with Daryl last night must’ve been caused by a momentary bout of insanity. God knows Rick’s had his fair share of those. What matters is, he regrets it now, and it doesn’t surprise Daryl in the slightest. 

He just doesn’t understand why he’s so hurt by it. Maybe the whole end of the world thing made him forget just how unlovable he really is, because for a moment there, he truly believed Rick might feel some sort of way about him. Way to be proven wrong. Of course, he’s got nobody else to blame but himself for being a liable idiot. Rick probably just needed to get laid. It’s been a while since the attack on Alexandria… with that blonde woman dead, Rick’s not getting any, again. And Daryl? Daryl was convenient, he was there, he was willing; must’ve been all there was to it.

With a sigh, Daryl lights a cigarette and inhales the smoke deeply. It’s a fancy cherry-flavored kind Glenn’s supply group brought a whole carton of last week. Shit tastes awful, and Daryl can’t understand how people used to pay more for these, but he supposes beggars can’t be choosers. Nicotine is nicotine. He’ll take his poison sickly sweet if that’s what’s available. It’s just one more way to die in a world ruled by the dead. 

Or something.

“You look like shit,” Carl says boldly. 

Daryl heard the kid approaching, of course. One-eyed, Carl makes even more noise moving around than his clutz of a father out in the woods. Something about the depth of perception, limited field of vision, whatever any of that means. Still, it’s a miracle he’s even alive after taking a shot to the head like that. Daryl’s grateful for it. Not only because he’s sure losing Carl would’ve broken Rick completely; he just likes the kid, he genuinely likes him. Would’ve sucked to have to bury him after already having done it for so many others.

Chuckling at the kid’s obnoxiousness, Daryl stubbs the cigarette on the porch rail and flicks the butt at the boy. “Yer dad know what kinda language you got goin’ on?” He asks in a teasing tone. 

Carl rolls his eye. “He’s got more to worry about than my language,” he says. His young face turns serious, and when he speaks next, he sounds worried: “Say, has he always been batshit insane and I just… never noticed?”

Daryl shakes his head. “Wouldn’t call him insane exactly,” he mutters. “Like ya said, he got lotsa worry ‘bout. Lotsa pressure he’s got no chance to process like a normal person. He’s doin’ all he can, though. An’ we gotta do our share to help him, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess. Shouldn’t be asking you about it, anyway,” Carl mutters and sighs unhappily.

“Why not?” Daryl inquires, frowning. Is there anything wrong with his opinions that he doesn’t know about?

“Well, you’re always gonna defend him. No matter what. Even if he really was batshit crazy,” the kid says in a tone that makes it clear he thinks it’s obvious. 

And it is, isn’t it? He’s always on Rick’s side, even when he doesn’t agree with the man. Many times he’s told Rick he’s full of shit to his face, but in front of the family, he’s nothing if not a loyal defender. A damn dog, that’s what he is. Kicked again and again, but he never learns. He just never learns.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Carl supplies, as if Daryl needs the validation, the assurance that he’s not completely pathetic.

Maybe he does.

“How’d ya mean?” He asks, though he’s not sure if he’s curious about the answer. 

Carl looks at him.

“Dad needs someone to be there for him. To stop him from doing anything dangerous, too. I mean, when we came here, he lost himself a bit? And you weren’t there. I think nobody was there he could trust, and-”

“Ain’t seemed like he needed me then,” Daryl interrupts. “Ain’t like he needs me now, neither. Yer dad, he’s stronger than any of us, alright? He don’t need no babysitter.”

“Are you in love with him?” Carl asks shamelessly. He stares Daryl right in the eye, like he’s not even the least bit afraid he might get punched for asking stupid questions.

“I heard him talking to Michonne, and she said you were,” the kid adds.

“She’s talkin’ shit,” Daryl mutters and lights another cigarette. 

“I’d be fine with it, just so you know,” Carl supplies. “If you ended up dating my dad.”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Daryl assures him, and his tone turns out more bitter than he intended. He takes a long drag on the cigarette, holds the smoke in so long it almost hurts, and exhales heavily. Half an hour ago, before Rick refused to kiss him in the kitchen, he probably would’ve been ecstatic to have Carl’s blessing or, well, whatever. But now? Now he knows it doesn’t matter. 

Rick’s probably straight anyway. Last night, he was just lonely. It’s not like they fucked or anything; sure, they both got off, but it was more like… jerking off in company, or some shit. Straight dudes must’ve done it all the time before the end of the world, maybe Rick even did that with Shane or, whatever. Yeah, so they cuddled afterwards, but to be honest, it wasn’t the first time they slept in the same bed, or even in each other’s arms. The road forced them into close quarters more than once, to keep warm, to protect one another. Daryl just… stupidly read more into it than there was.

“I’d be surprised if it didn’t,” Carl says with a shit-eating grin. 

Daryl groans and decides to change the subject. “Why ya suddenly askin’ ‘bout him? Bein’ crazy an’ shit, I mean.”

“Ah. You know,” Carl replies and his face becomes more somber. “I was wondering about it. Was he always like this? Like, what he did. To her. When she wouldn’t let go of me, he… You probably didn’t see, but his face, the way he looked at her, it made _me_ terrified, and he was saving me.”

Daryl only heard Rick’s account of how Jessie Anderson died, and even that wasn’t pretty. No wonder Carl’s bothered by what he saw. He was probably already scared from the general chaos of the attack on Alexandria; to see his father ruthlessly hack away at the arms of the woman he seemed to have wanted, abandoning her to a horrible death… that must’ve been a brutal experience. 

This kid’s been witness to so much shit. 

“Yer dad, I told ya, he’s under lotsa pressure, yeah? Half of it’s ‘cause he wanna protect yer sister an’ you. Y’know, people he cares about. He sees ya in danger, he’s gonna do the craziest dumb shit to save ya.”

“That why he killed that Joe dude the way he did?” Carl asks. 

“Yeah,” Daryl says. He drops the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stubbs it with the heel of his boot. He needs an ashtray. Maybe there’s something in the kitchen he can use; he’ll check later.

“I thought the reason he did that was because you were in danger,” Carl confesses. He lifts a hand to brush some hair away from his face, misses and smacks himself on the forehead. He doesn’t give up, though, and succeeds on the second attempt. 

“Nah. ‘twas for you, kid. Yer dad, he’s gonna do whatever needs done to keep y’all safe. Both you an’ lil’ ass-kicker. Sometimes, he’s gonna seem crazy for it, but hell. I’d take crazy dad protectin’ his kids over an abusive asshole like mine anyday, an’ ya better appreciate him too,” Daryl says. He almost instantly feels like he’s over-sharing; Carl doesn’t need to know about this shit. But it’s too late, the words are out there in the open, and it’s the kid’s choice what he’s gonna do with it. 

Apparently, what Carl’s gonna do is nod, all serious-like, and give Daryl a smile. With a cheeky grin, he says: “Well, you turned out alright despite your shitty dad, so I guess I’ll be fine with my crazy dad, right?” 

Daryl opens his mouth to offer some scathing, vaguely rude remark - all in good humor, of course, - but the door behind them opens and Rick comes out to join them on the porch with a steaming mug he’s holding in both hands. 

“Here you are,” he says, something like relief evident both in his voice and the way his face relaxes. To Daryl’s surprise, he’s not talking to Carl, but instead the constable’s attention is solely focused on him. 

“I brought you tea. I added some honey, scavenged it from Carol’s pantry ‘cause you prefer sweet things. Don’t tell her,” Rick says and motions to the mug. 

Daryl licks his lips nervously and nods. “Uh, alright,” he agrees and accepts the proffered mug, looking quickly to Carl, who shrugs, but continues to grin. Daryl’s not sure how to react; he feels a pang in his chest at the downright _caring_ gesture, which seems like some sort of weird apology from Rick for rebutting him earlier, but that’s probably just wishful thinking. He takes a careful sip of the tea - sweet, exactly as he likes it - and he wonders if his brain is turning to mush, because somehow, the tea tastes like _hope._

“Thanks,” he murmurs over the rim of the mug, looking up at Rick, aware of the warmth coloring his cheeks. He must be looking ridiculous, but Rick smiles at him nonetheless. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, and pats Daryl on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

“No tea for me, dad?” Carl asks with a smug smile on his face as he gives Daryl a pointed look.

Rick blinks. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he replies, shrugging. “There’s enough water left in the pot, make your own tea.”

Rolling his one eye, the kid goes to the house, but not without shooting Daryl one last meaningful glance. Rick shakes his head, obviously fondly exasperated with his son’s antics, and returns all attention to Daryl.

“I think I made a mistake,” he says softly.

Daryl’s hand tightens on the mug and he looks down at the porch railing. Here it goes: the talk he was subconsciously dreading all along. Rick’s about to tell him how last night shouldn’t have happened. How he thinks Daryl’s a good friend, but nothing more. Briefly, Daryl entertains the idea of overturning the mug and pouring the hot tea all over himself just to stave off the inevitable - surely, Rick would stop talking if he thought Daryl was hurt, at least for the time required to check for any potential injuries, and then Daryl would find an opportunity to hide away, maybe in Aaron and Eric’s garage- 

But he’s not a coward. He’s many things: white trash, an uneducated redneck from the wrong side of the tracks, unlovable, not good enough, a Goddamn faggot - but he’s not a coward, and he can take the truth, even if he knows it’s going to break his heart. He took the indifference from his mama like he took the beatings from his daddy or the verbal abuse from Merle, and this won’t be any different. 

He can take it, too. 

Unaware of Daryl’s internal turmoil, Rick sighs and looks at the wall, like he’s unable to face the hunter. 

“I should have let you kiss me back there,” he says regretfully, and. This is not what Daryl was expecting. 

“Or actually, I should’ve kissed you first,” the man adds. “I wanted to, but I was being stupid. Don’t know what I’ve been thinking.”

Daryl’s heart skips a beat. 

“Wait, wait, back up. So yer sayin’... yer not ashamed of me? Or like, regrettin’ doin’ shit with me?” 

“God, Daryl, of course I don’t regret it,” Rick exclaims, and there’s raw sincerity welling up in his voice. When he looks up at Daryl, his blue eyes are bright and brimming with an intensity that makes Daryl’s head spin. 

“I’ve never been ashamed of you, be it as my friend, my brother… or my lover,” Rick adds, and he touches Daryl’s hand gently, but doesn’t attempt to hold it. Gives Daryl the chance to retreat if he’s uncomfortable. He always does this. Always seems to care. 

“But ya said… this morning,” Daryl reminds him bitterly, even as he stares, transfixed, at the long calloused fingers stroking slowly over his own.

“Yeah, because I’m an idiot,” Rick assures him quickly. He uses his other hand to brush through his curly hair which has been steadily growing longer over the last few weeks. 

He elaborates: “Listen… You know the. Well, the real weird thing I had with Jessie, right? How it started, and how it ended, too. And before that, my marriage to Lori, what came of it, how she… how she died. I think after all that, I sort of, like, convinced myself, that I’m the reason it happened. Why they died. And I thought, maybe if nobody knew, if I could just keep you a secret from everyone… then nobody would want to target you, because of me. I think I had so many nightmares where I lost you, I just, I couldn’t deal with the idea of actually losing you in real life.”

Daryl frowns. “But that’s… real damn stupid,” he says.

“Yes, I know,” Rick agrees, “hence the apology. I’m sorry for acting dumb back there in the kitchen. For making you feel like I didn’t want you. I do want you. I think I’ve wanted you for so long, I kinda stopped noticing it for a while. Like it became a part of me. You know, something that I just took for granted, like loving my kids or caring about the family. And anyway… I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way about me.”

“Then yer a real idiot for sure,” Daryl mutters, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Apparently even yer son had me figured out.”

He takes the easy way out, mentioning the kid, and he knows it. He just can’t handle the emotional talk in such amounts. There’s a feeling bubbling in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, and even though it’s a thoroughly happy feeling, Daryl’s still worried he might start crying. 

Rick smiles and doesn’t press, instead taking Daryl’s lead on the change of subject. He says: “Well, Carl’s observant. No thanks to me, I’m about as oblivious as a brick. He takes that from you, I think. Learning from the best.”

The two of them stand on the porch in companionable silence for a while, so close to one another that their shoulders are touching. Daryl sips his sweet tea, enjoying the warmth spreading through his insides from both the hot beverage and the press of Rick’s arm against his own. Somehow, he hates Alexandria a little less than only twenty minutes ago. 

“‘m sorry ‘bout Jessie,” he murmurs finally once his tea is finished. 

All this time that’s passed since the attack, and he never actually said any words of consolation to Rick after what happened. He didn’t care much for the blonde woman, he didn’t even particularly like her. Honestly, he considered her weak and definitely unworthy of Rick’s attention, but that wasn’t for him to decide, so he just… said nothing. Pretended he didn’t see. Didn’t acknowledge her as someone who mattered to their leader when she was alive, and then when she died, he decided she wasn’t worth bringing up. Until now.

Rick hums. “I didn’t love her or anything,” he says thoughtfully. “I could have, if I met her before the world went to shit. That’s probably why I wanted her. She reminded me of what used to be normal, and this whole place, the people here… I wasn’t thinking about the future, not even the present, I think. I was stuck in the past, in my failed marriage, and I got confused. Did some things I’m not proud of.”

“Yeah,” Daryl agrees softly, because no matter how kind he wants to be about it, he can’t deny that Rick went positively batshit when they arrived in Alexandria. “For a while there, I thought ya went all Shane. Even yer kid thinks yer kinda insane sometimes, man. You gotta get a grip on yerself. Can’t go addin’ to his scars. He don’t deserve to be constantly worried if his father gonna snap one of these days.”

“I have,” Rick assures him. “Gotten a grip, I mean. You know, I can see the kind of bullshit I’ve been up to since we got here, and I’m sorry. For all of it. Well… most of it,” he pauses to lick his lips. 

Daryl’s eyes are immediately drawn to the slow flick of the tip of Rick’s tongue against lips. If there’s one thing he actually appreciates about Rick’s clean-shaven look, it’s that it makes his pretty, pink lips even more pronounced. He still prefers the man with a beard, though. On the road, beaten up, dirty and bloody all the time, he was more… theirs, like that. The family’s. He was Rick the survivor, not Rick the sheriff’s deputy from a world gone by. 

“I’m not sorry for last night,” Rick continues and looks at Daryl with the sort of heated honesty in his eyes that reminds Daryl of a time way back, when the clean-cut deputy told him how he left Merle handcuffed to a rooftop in Atlanta. 

“I’m not sorry for kissing you, and I sure as hell ain’t sorry for holding you in my arms when we slept. I’m sorry for fucking up this morning, though. Can I still make it right?”

Daryl shrugs, feigning indifference. “Still technically morning,” he replies nonchalantly. 

Chuckling, Rick nods. “So it is,” he says, and pulls Daryl into a proper good-morning kiss. 

It’s perfect. It’s just like it was last night, hesitant at first, soft and kinda fleeting until it’s not: Rick, reassured that Daryl won’t sock him in the jaw, deepens the kiss and wraps his arms around Daryl’s waist. He groans into Daryl’s mouth when Daryl presses himself into his embrace; encouraged, Daryl lifts his free hand to tangle in the soft curls at the nape of Rick’s head, responding to the kiss, taking as much as he gives. He drops the empty mug and hears it shatter on the wood of the porch, but he pays it no mind and just uses the newly freed hand to cup the side of Rick’s jaw. There’s a hint of roughness under his fingertips, the beginning of a stubble, and Daryl sighs happily against the younger man’s lips. 

For a good-morning kiss, it becomes rather heated, but finally, they break apart for breath. Daryl has to take a moment to calm his racing heartbeat, and he thinks about how they’re out in the open now; the old couple from next door are out for a walk, a few kids are playing some variation of hide-and-seek across the road. Plus they’re in full view of the house’s occupants here on the porch, probably very visible from the kitchen - anyone could see them any time, touching and kissing, and Rick… Rick doesn’t seem to care.

Like he’s reading Daryl’s mind, Rick leans in, presses his forehead against Daryl’s and chuckles when the hunter can’t quite seem to resist the temptation to kiss the tip of his big nose. He lifts one hand to put it at the nape of Daryl’s neck, affectionately rubbing the skin there with the tips of his fingers.

He asks: “You alright with this? With people knowing all about us?”

The part of Daryl that keeps telling him he’s not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, just _not enough_ for anybody to love him, is trying to come to the surface. It screams at him, in Merle’s almost-forgotten voice, that it must be a ruse of some sort, that there’s no way he’s suddenly worthy of Rick’s attention. Maybe he’s still just convenient, an easy, willing fuck, but once a new Jessie comes along, Rick will forget all about him again, and-

Daryl shuts down that part. It’s all just insecurity talking; none of it is true. Rick’s looking at him, blue eyes bright and pretty in the late morning sun, and Daryl doesn’t really know what love looks like, but he’s pretty sure this is it.

“Fuck yeah I’m alright,” he replies, and kisses Rick again.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, feel free to come shout at me on tumblr at most--curiously--blue--eyes :)


End file.
